Catch Me
by Cheetoh
Summary: When Harry is bitten by an unknown werewolf, and Remus is nowhere to be found, he is left to deal the consequences by himself. Well, until a certain Malfoy heir decides to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, that is.
1. Stain

**Stain**

--

When Harry is bitten by an unknown werewolf, and Remus is nowhere to be found, he is left to deal the consequences by himself. Well, until a certain Malfoy heir decides to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, that is.

* * *

He paced, for not the first time in his long life, he was worried. The press would no doubt catch wind of this in a matter of hours, if not minutes. There had been too many witnesses, not enough time, and no one seemed to know how to keep their mouths shut. He removed his spectacles, cleaning them slowly on his robes, before looking slowly at Minerva. He couldn't force himself to smile, and he was sure the other woman would have found it highly inappropriate, anyway.

If only he hadn't overestimated the boy… if only he had watched over him as closely as he should have.

Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived, and the heir to Gryffindor—the only son of Lily and James Potter, both of whom were known for their antics and mischief in life. He should have known Harry would cause trouble that would make James stop and take a step back.

He could feel the medical staff of St. Mungo's working their hardest to keep the boy alive and stable—and trying in vain to reverse the affects of The Bite. He was starting to wonder if maybe he should have taken Harry to a Veterinarian instead, but quickly dismissed the idea. The boy would change back once the sun rose, and a Vet couldn't do much with a human boy.

It was somewhere around 2AM when the woman peeked her head out hesitantly, eyes wide and unblinking. "U-um… Sir…?"

Dumbledore looked up with a sad smile, "Yes, my dear? Can we see him now?" He asked softly, wanting and not wanting to see Harry at the same time. He would not run from Harry, just as he had not run from Remus, in their darkest hour.

She nodded, and stepped out of the doorway and ushered them in, before closing it with a soft 'click' behind them.

The figure on the bed was hooked up to every imaginable machine, wires and needles sticking in and out everywhere. The window was thrown open as wide as it would go, and the moonlight shone down strongly, filling the room with enough light that Dumbledore switched off the one above them quietly.

He looked more regal than most Werewolves did, that was for sure. He made Remus look like a mangy mutt. Thick, black fur covered his body that was caught somewhere between wolf and man. Hand-like paws twitched and clawed at his sheets, ripping and dirtying them unconsciously. His tail was short and slim, jerking like his hands were, as he fought off whatever nightmare or dream was keeping him from reality. Around his wrists were leather, magically enhanced straps, pinning arms to the bed, as well as several other straps surrounding his legs and torso. His head was thrown back onto the mattress—it didn't go unnoticed by Dumbledore that he didn't have a pillow—and obscured from view. He idly wondered if the lightning shaped scar would show, even in this form. They had placed a muzzle over his snout, effectively covering most of his face anyway. He was covered head to toe in fresh bandages, though some were already sporting bright red spots where it had bled through.

Minerva gasped in horror, and he knew she was fighting the urge to move closer, and felt a swell of affection for her—even in this state, she knew it was still Harry behind all that fur and claws.

"What will we do?" She whispered, never taking her eyes off her student. He said nothing, but heaved a long sigh, and moved to stand next to the bed.

"We do what we can." He said simply.

* * *

This is only the prologue. The chapters will get longer, I promise.


	2. Strain

**Strain**

--

When Harry is bitten by an unknown werewolf, and Remus is nowhere to be found, he is left to deal the consequences by himself. Well, until a certain Malfoy heir decides to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, that is.

_'thoughts'_

_Unknown voice/**Unknown voice**_

* * *

The sunlight filtered in through the white curtains, and the noise from the streets below filtered in quietly. The heart monitor to his right beeped in a slow, steady rhythm.

It wasn't any of these things that woke him, however.

_Harry._

He squinted against the sunlight, attempting to reach up and place a hand on his scar, but was stopped by something around his wrists. The heart monitor began to beep faster.

His eyes snapped open, suddenly becoming aware of everything restraining him, and the voice was lost to the depths of his mind for the moment. Something was strapped to his face, and he stared down at it in confusion, and mounting worry. It was… a muzzle? He'd seen them on some of the dogs around town when he lived with the Dursley's, but he wasn't sure why it was on him—it didn't even fit. He moved his head to the side, and used the mattress – _Where is my pillow?_ – to slide it up and over his head, where it sat harmlessly on the edge of the bed.

That taken care of, he looked around for some explanation, and felt a pang of hurt in his heart- where was Ron, or Hermione? Someone? Anyone? He was obviously in a Hospital of some sort—most likely St. Mungo's, but that still didn't explain why he was so… alone. He could hear the click-clack of Nurse's heels in the hallway, but none stopped at his door.

There were no flowers or cards… no get well wishes, nothing. Had he been forgotten?

Just what was going on?

In reality it was only about 15 minutes, but when someone finally arrived, it felt like hours. He looked up hopefully, startling the nurse who had stuck her head in. She looked frightened, but stepped into the room with a shaky smile. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. Feeling… well?"

He nodded, hesitantly, "I'd feel better if someone would tell me what's going on…" He motioned pointedly at being strapped down with his head. She paused, before she brought her wand out of her pocket, and waved it wordlessly. The straps fell away and disappeared without a sound, and he sat up gratefully.

"It is… not my place to discuss with you, Mr. Potter. You remember nothing?" Another wave of her wand, and the sheets were clean and repaired, after a confused and disturbed look at them and then her.

"Er… should I?"

She stared at him and then glanced up to his scar, before shaking her head. "No, I suppose not. Dumbledore told me to tell you that he would be here to take you home around noon." She turned and opened the door and walked out, without a second glance.

He rubbed his wrists and stared at the clock, 11:34AM, and then sighed. Just what in the world was going on…?

--

He tapped a finger in agitation, staring at the unopened letter on his desk. He knew better than to question Fawkes, but the question slipped out regardless, "You're sure you couldn't find him?" The bird fluffed up and turned away, pointedly ignoring him. Of _course_ he couldn't be found! He wasn't some stupid pigeon.

He sighed, and stood, well if Remus couldn't be reached… something else would have to be done. Werewolves were pack creatures… even Remus had had his own little pack out of James, Sirius and Peter. He had no doubt that Harry wouldn't last long without someone, something… Perhaps Hermione and Ron could be trained to be Animagus?

Harry would have to stay with Sirius from now on… that much was certain. The Dursley's could not control a teenager; they had little to no hope of controlling a teenage werewolf.

He massaged the bridge of his nose, and sighed once more. It was hard enough trying to keep Sirius from getting into trouble by himself, how in the world was he going to keep Sirius _and_ Harry alive and safe? Harry was becoming more and more like James every day, and he had no doubts that Sirius was having a harder and harder time separating best friend from godson.

A long, deep ringing caught his attention, and he looked up at the grandfather clock in the corner. 12 o'clock, time to go pick up Harry... A very possibly irate Harry.

--

True to what Dumbledore thought, Harry looked up with a glare when the door opened again. Albus merely smiled at him pleasantly, "Good afternoon, Harry. It's good to see you awake." He didn't respond immediately, only moving a hand behind his back – Albus noticed he still did not have a pillow – and grabbed a leather muzzle, and held it up by its straps. He also noticed that the bandages had been removed; leaving unmarred skin in their wake. The healers had done a good job, despite the way they treated him for what he now was.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

"Language, Harry. I doubt Molly would be pleased to hear you speaking like that."

Harry didn't look fazed. "Don't change the subject. I'm not 11 anymore, Professor. Would you please stop avoiding the question?"

"Unfortunately Harry, we were hoping you could tell us."

Harry's features twisted into confusion, before his shoulders fell and he stared at his lap in defeat. "I'm sorry, Professor, I don't remember anything… I remember hearing something outside the window at the Dursley's, but nothing else. I don't remember even getting up to check it out."

Dumbledore sighed, and reached to take the muzzle from the boy, and ran long, calloused fingers over the leather surface. "We found you in the forbidden forest, Harry," He began slowly, banishing the muzzle silently, "You nearly died. If the centaurs hadn't found you, you _would_ have died."

The boy didn't say anything, and Dumbledore had to remind himself that Harry wasn't afraid of death; not anymore. At 16, and spending the last 5 years of his life having to defeat Lord Voldemort in some way, he figured death hadn't been too far from the boy's mind.

"It… was a full moon last night, Harry." That got Harry's attention, and he looked up sharply, and Dumbledore could see Harry mouth "Werewolf…" having finally figured it out.

Harry looked a little sick, and he swallowed thickly. "It… That muzzle fit last night, didn't it?"

"I'm afraid so."

Several, long seconds ticked by before his head fell into his hands, fingers gripping his wild, thick hair.

He didn't say anything, even as Dumbledore pulled him gently from the bed and into the hall a few minutes later, saying something about going somewhere safe. He only looked up when the older wizard gripped his upper arm firmly, though still gently, and only a "Try not to get sick; I doubt Kreacher would appreciate having to clean up any messes."

And then the world twisted violently, Harry stumbling only slightly when they landed, looking decidedly green. Dumbledore cast him a concerned glance, before moving forward and opening the door to the one place Harry could honestly call home, besides Hogwarts. Unlike Hogwarts, however, this place was only home because o f the people in it.

The door was shut quickly and quietly behind them, and no sooner had he turned around, he was swept up into a bone crushing hug. It didn't take much for Harry to realize who it was- and the hug was returned with enthusiasm.

Sirius was all Harry had left of his pack, besides Remus.

Had he been paying attention, he might have realized that his mind was already altering his train of thought.

**_Harry…

* * *

_**


	3. Refrain

**Refrain**

--

When Harry is bitten by an unknown werewolf, and Remus is nowhere to be found, he is left to deal the consequences by himself. Well, until a certain Malfoy heir decides to stick his nose where it doesn't belong, that is.

* * *

Dumbledore left shortly after he had dropped Harry off; a pleasant smile and a polite excuse about tending to his duties – what duties, Harry wasn't sure – and he was gone with a pop, leaving him alone with his Godfather.

For the rest of the day, Harry got to see firsthand just why Sirius' Animagus form was that of a large dog. Anything starting with 'we' was assumed to be 'werewolf' and he had proved several times that night that he would not stand for it. Kreacher had made the mistake of attempting to say 'Wednesday' and was forced to clean up the plate that Sirius had flung to the ground in a fury. He was loyal, and quick to anger, if Harry's feelings were in jeopardy.

Harry didn't dare ask why; whatever was triggering such a strong reaction, he was sure he knew what it was.

It wasn't uncommon knowledge that werewolves were treated and avoided like the plague.

Harry entertained the thought that at least people wouldn't – and he grimaced at the pun—hound him like they had.

He hoped.

--

Harry had spent most of his summer holiday with Sirius, holed up and hiding from the rest of the world. Ron and Hermione had not attempted to contact him, and somewhere deep inside, he resented them for it. A large, gaping hole was left without them, a hole that was only partially filled by Sirius and (grudgingly) Kreacher.

He only saw one person other than Sirius the entire time, and that was Professor Snape. He had shoved a wolf's bane potion into his hand and then stalked away without a word, leaving Harry to stare silently at the potion in his hands. His stomach dropped to his toes, and he knew without any prompting that it must be close to the full moon. It was so easy to get caught up in Sirius' world of seclusion that he could forget, at least for a little while, what he had become.

Especially since the order had apparently moved their headquarters elsewhere, in light of the new complications. New werewolves were very volatile, learning to control their newfound instincts and emotions.

His first (that he could remember) transformation was the worst.

Sirius had hovered just out of reach. The dog's black head cocked as he whined, pacing anxiously as he watched helplessly as the transformation took place.

His clothes ripped audibly, and his heart thundered in his ears. With a loud snap, he threw his head back as fur began to sprout along his skin, and his muscles rippled grotesquely before being covered from view. His face stretched into a snout, teeth sharpening into fangs, and he snapped it shut with a low growl. He crumpled to the floor when his legs elongated with the sickening sound of bone grinding on bone. His fingers cracked and bent, forming into a twisted version of themselves. His paw-like hands-- complete with paw pads-- scrabbled on the wood flooring, claws leaving deep scratches in its surface.

His fur was thick, a combination of black and gray. His nose was a shocking pink, matching the skin that showed through the missing fur, in the shape of a lightning bolt.

The animal in Sirius whimpered, and he felt himself shrinking away when the werewolf in front of him rose slowly from the ground. A dark, low growl filled the room, and a green eye shot open, staring straight into Sirius' own.

It only took a second—one second of hesitation, and he was captured. He had hit the wall before he even saw Harry move, gripped by the throat and held aloft against the cracked surface behind him. He gagged and thrashed, clawing at the rough paw around his throat.

The large nose shoved its way into Sirius' fur, snuffling and loosening gradually.

"_Pack?"_

Sirius choked on the air rushing into his lungs when he was let go, landing only by luck on his feet. Harry leaned down, muttering something along the lines of _"Sorry—no hurt? No meant to—sorry, sorry—"_and his paws pat him down as if searching for injury. _"No hurt Alpha—"_ He whined, tail thumping against the ground as he finished his inspection, green eyes large and round, and settled completely on Sirius.

He merely stared back, confused. Alpha? Remus had always referred to himself as Alpha as a Werewolf, and Sirius happily let him. Could he even control Harry as an alpha was supposed to? He didn't have James with him this time; he had never entertained the delusion that he could control Harry if he didn't want to be.

_Then again,_ Sirius mused as he watched Harry watch him, _I am much older than Harry. He must recognize that._ Sirius snorted, and shook his coat, his nose reaching up to touch it to Harry's own. The young werewolf reached forward eagerly, bumping noses a little harder than necessary in his enthusiasm—but realized that it was as good as an 'apology accepted' that he would get from the Animagus.

And as quickly as everything had settled down, the peace was disrupted by the sharp rap of a rock on the window pane.

Harry's head snapped so fast that Sirius wondered if he'd given himself whiplash, by the way he recoiled with a snarl that made the growling from earlier seem tame.

Before Sirius even had the time to respond, Harry had leapt forward, and slammed against the window. Paws and claws scratching the surface with such a frenzied force he was extremely glad he had chosen to fortify the wards against this room.

"_Rival! Killer! Snake!"_ The werewolf snarled, over and over, causing his actions to become even more agitated than before, ignoring Sirius as he skidded across the room and began to growl at him.

"_Harry, control yourself!" _Sirius could only guess what Harry saw, leaving deep scratches in the window. Who knew of this house that would want to stir Harry up like that? Someone that Harry hated so much to begin to foam at the mouth in his desperation.

Another rock shot shattered the glass, and hit Harry square in the forehead, exploding in a flash of light and smoke. The beast roared, and without a second thought slipped through the window and landed in the street below, ignoring the suddenly human shout of Sirius up above.

--

He must be crazy.

He must be absolutely out of his fucking _mind._

He sneered, hand rubbing the bane of his existence through his sleeve, located on his left arm. His wand was gripped tightly in his left hand, while he tried to appear as inconspicuous as possible. He cursed nervously as he sent a paranoid glance over his shoulder, finding no one in sight he hurried on, painfully aware of how loud his shoes were on the road.

The full moon shone down brightly, and he was growing ever more anxious as time passed; of course there wouldn't be one goddamn cloud in the sky when he was doing this, eh? Lady luck was such a _bitch._ He knew he had arrived at the right place, however, from the growls and snarls that came from within one of the rooms up near the top.

_I am so dead. Fuck!_

Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and schooled his face into a mask of determination, hiding the panic he felt. Searching the ground, he flicked his wand toward a stone and knocked it against the glass where he could hear the growling.

It stopped for a short moment, and Draco wondered if maybe he'd chosen the wrong window, before it was full of something so menacing he took a step backwards.

_Don't fuck this up, Draco! You came this far… don't run away now!_ He steeled himself, pleading to anything that was willing to watch over him, and flung another rock—this one enchanted and thrown much faster than before. The moment the glass broke, he turned on heel and ran, feeling the change sweep through him. He winced as his clothes ripped, shaking out of them as fast as possible, and scooped to grab his wand in his mouth, before taking off frantically when the loud thud of the werewolf hitting the ground reached his ears.

He led the agitated werewolf through the streets and back alleys, not giving two shits if a muggle saw them. He crouched, before springing upwards and into the lower-hanging branch of a nearby tree; he clawed his way up and through it's branches before leaving the relative safety of the tree and onto the rooftop of a house. He scrambled over it's shingles and cursed heavily in his mind when one gave away, almost sending him sliding all the way back down and to his more than untimely demise. He paused only slightly, but hissed and anxiously judged the distance between the edge of this roof and the next.

Too late, he would have to chance it. The snarls were louder and he could hear large, sharp claws scratching against the shingles ominously behind him. His leap was more than just a little awkward, and he wondered just why God hated him so much. He pawed desperately at the gutter, but slipped anyway and fell heavily to the concrete below. He yelped in pain, hauled himself to his feet, wand threatening to crack from the death-grip in his teeth.

Despite being fast, he didn't have much stamina, and soon he was breathless, glancing above him and dodged a falling shingle as the wolfish face gazed down on him from above. He struggled to push himself to go faster, and clawed his way awkwardly over a chain-link fence between the alley and back out into the streets.

He panted, desperately trying not to lose his wand, and tensed when he realized he had lost Harry. _Fuck! There's no telling where he is now!_

He had been specifically chosen for this mission; wear out the savior, because he was the only Animagus that had achieved such a fast form. Although he had argued heatedly and near silently in the corner, his father had refused to even hear about anybody else volunteering for the mission. _"You're fast," he says_, Draco mocked in his mind, _"Let him chase you," he says!_

And then there he was—large and powerful, _and coming straight for him._ He hissed in alarm, taking off across the streets and praying that his paws didn't fail him now. He had no doubt that the werewolf in Harry would tear him apart without a problem, and he mused frantically that he supposed he deserved it. Unwilling and unable to go down this particular path in his mind, he shut it down as he gasped for breath, muscles screaming, and his hips and spine aching from the fall.

The streets were slick with the rain from earlier in the day, and he fought hard not to slip. That would be just what he needed—to fall to the ground helplessly like the lead actress in a movie.

The houses and fences and trees flashed blurrily in his peripheral vision, and he silently cursed them all for having such quiet, cosy, _normal _lives. Don't get him wrong—he hated muggles. Every last one of the ignorant bastards stained the earth with their filth, but he had never wished _so hard_ that he could trade places with one of them.

Being chased by a werewolf tended to do that to you, you know.

But Harry was gaining on him, and he really needed to stop thinking and start _acting_. He chanced a glance back and hissed, a low growl starting in his chest anxiously. Harry was close—much, much too close. He was gaining on him, despite Draco's speed—Harry's stamina would outlast him.

Where the_ fuck_ was his father?

The snarling was getting ever closer, and he stumbled, not quite falling but forcing him to turn and drop his wand. He yowled, prancing anxiously in place around his wand as Harry circled him with a strange gleam in his eyes. He panted-- harsh and quick, his breath misting out into the air around him, _No, __**really,**__ where the __**fuck**__ is my Father?_

His legs quivered beneath him and he closed his eyes, head lowering and tail tucking up under him in a very un-cat like manner. Harry was going to rip him limb from limb, and he couldn't do _shit_ about it.

The sound of paws never reached his ears, his heart thundering so loud he feared it might wake the muggles in the houses nearby.

He just hoped he didn't survive to suffer the consequences.

* * *

**Review. :'D Please~**


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